


Oh Captain, My Captain

by TheWiseMansFear



Category: OCs - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:33:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27052720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWiseMansFear/pseuds/TheWiseMansFear
Summary: This is a little pwp I did for some ocs my friend and I have on Tiktok. Find the tags #solycealterra and #zevcaspain there for more!My handle is: Moon.SproutsZev’s creator is: taterbugarooski
Relationships: ZevCaspian/SolyceAlterra
Kudos: 2





	Oh Captain, My Captain

It  _ wasn’t _ stalking. 

Solyce told himself this for the umpteenth time as he followed the captain to-- wherever it was the man always ran off to when they docked on Circinus. Usually, everyone just ignored the behavior, after all, it really was none of their business. But today there’d been a storm pushing them to land and this had pushed Zev into an uncharacteristic hurry, jumping ship before the last knot had been tied. 

Circinus was largely uninhabitable, made mostly of rock-face and dense jungle, even the beach was sparse. It would be easy to be injured and never be found. And while the crew largely dismissed the captain’s behavior, Sol couldn’t let it go. Not with a hurricane chasing up their ass-cracks. 

The wind was already whipping so hard that it made the rain into blades.They should be in the tavern, holed up with ale behind boarded windows or, as Sol preferred, in bed at the brothel paying for rough treatment. 

If he were there now, he’d be up against the wall, a larger man at his back, drowning out the weather with heavy breathing. As always, he’d be pretending that man was Zev. If he wasn’t such a fucking coward, maybe it would have been. 

Of course, his fantasies would never come to fruition if the fucking idiot fell off a cliff into the ocean.  _ Shit _ . Sol had to bite his lip to keep from shouting as he watched the man scurrying up and over a tumble of rocks, coat billowing and boots slipping. 

He should just call out. They should both go back. This was the kind of recklessness that got men killed. 

Sol hates storms. It would have been enough growing up in the Southern islands where hurricanes were frequent and deadly, but he’d also had to endure more than his share during his time at war.

The Middle Isles had been northern enough to escape most of the storms, but the sylph could make their own. Sol had buried his arms in scorched earth many times, watched as his comrades were blown away around him. They’d clung to dead trees, scrabbled for purchase among littered bodies, begged, even. And when the wind hadn’t worked, the water came next, the sylph’s wind upheaving the tides.

How the Salamander still has troops to deploy was as much a mystery to him as his captain’s current mentality.

He was now scaling the fall of stone Zev had just crossed, keeping low to avoid the worst of the wind. It was slow going, however, and by the time he had landed on the other side, the captain was a dark blur in the distance. 

Fear bloomed beneath his sternum, desperate and angry. 

Stupid. This was stupid. He shouldn’t have abandoned the port. He should have stayed safe and left the captain to his folly, but...

The only thing that ever made him feel  _ anything _ anymore was Zev. He hated the truth of it, hated the yearning, the unrequited  _ feelings _ , the ache that was somehow less terrible than the emptiness he’d been so fraught with before. 

Something large and dark came into view, dwarfing the captain’s little blur. A building? Did Zev have a secret home here? Did that home house a secret lover? A wife? Children? What if Sol was following the man to his family like some hungry port mongrel?

_ Fuck. _

By now there was no turning back before the storm hit and he’d either have to let it take him or knock on the captain’s door. 

He already knew which choice he’d make.

But no. It wasn’t a house. He recognized the shape as he drew nearer, even with the wind whipping sand into his eyes. A ship, roughly the same size as  _ The Stargazer _ but clearly wrecked. Sol knew well the look of charred wood, even through the veil of bad weather. 

His stomach sank. Was this the reason behind the snatches of grief Sol saw in Zev’s eyes when the man thought no one was watching? This wooden corpse, marooned here by time and violence, clearly meant a great deal to him if he was willing to risk his life to be with it. 

Sol shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have come. Just standing yards away felt like a trespass, a sacrilege. He could see clearly now the battle damage and could envision perfectly a ship on fire, could hear the shouting of its crew. Similar scenes plagued his nightmares on more than one occasion. 

He looked back toward the port, fully knowing he wouldn’t make it back before the pelting rain began. The storm was on them. Debris from the forest above was already being tossed dangerously across the beach and the waves were threatening to sweep his feet out from under him. 

“Oi!” Sol looked up, heart in his boots. Zev was hanging onto the ship railing, looking down at him. “You coming aboard or what?” 

Well. Fuck. 

He did his best not to look shocked. If he played it right he could still salvage some dignity. Or at least he might have, had the wind not blown him straight off the rope ladder and onto his back in the sand. 

“You okay?” Zev shouted, though Sol could hear the laughter in his tone. 

Naturally, it started to rain exactly then, a cold, miserable downpour that would send his body temperature plummeting. The wind made the droplets like tiny knives and he hissed in annoyance, nostrils burning with little flames as his temper flared.

He doubted Zev could hear over the storm, but he made sure to curse in the most vile Elvish he knew, just in case. 

His second attempt at the ladder went more smoothly and he let Zev help him over the rail. “Are you hurt?” 

Embarrassed, Sol shook the man’s hands off and stalked across the deck. “No.” He’d be bruised, probably, but his ego was what was aching.

He stomped down the stairs, not sure where he was going but knowing he didn’t want to be where he’d been. This entire experience had been humiliating. The captain had known he was following the whole time and had let him lurk and sneak anyway, like humouring a child during hide and seek. No doubt the man thought he was a fool, easy to make a game of. Worst of all, though, was that there was no way Sol could shift this situation into something that  _ didn’t _ make him look like a lovestruck idiot. 

He groaned. 

_ Lovestruck. _

After seeing Fino fall and break so hard over that sylph prince, and losing multiple partners on the battlefield, Sol had sworn off attachments. And yet, here he was, attached. Attached enough to run out into a storm despite the tremor in his hands and the dark, fractured memories playing on loop in the back of his skull.

He was in too deep now, doomed. And since he was being honest, it was time to admit that he’d been damned that first day, at first fucking sight like those swooning damsels in the idiotic novels Zev adored so much. The second those gray eyes had landed on him he’d known it. That had been years ago and he’d just been slowly bleeding out since, unable and unwilling to do more than pat the wound dry now and then.

“Sorry.” Suddenly the captain was beside him, at his ear so as to be heard, hot breath sharp in contrast to the chill on Sol’s skin. “The place is a bit of a disaster. I wasn’t expecting company.”

He spared the corridor a look, before stalking forward despite the alluring heat of the other man’s body. “This is where you’re always running off to?” 

“Yeah,” the man shrugged, “it’s a pretty good waste of time, I guess.”

Sol didn’t like that,didn’t like the soft self-deprecation in the undertones. If it was important to Zev, he couldn't fathom how it could be superfluous. “It’s not a waste. You’re repairing it, aren’t you?”

“I’m attempting to,” the captain replied, shedding his wet jacket and nodding toward the back of the ship. “My quarters.”

He moved without speaking, mind whirring. He was wet and cold and in the presence of the only man he’d ever met that truly terrified him. Facing sylph soldiers had been less frightening.

If he stepped wrong, proceeded when he shouldn’t or hesitated when he should act, he could lose everything. His place on the ship, his brother, his heart, or what was left of it. Not much, that was for certain. Too little to satisfy a real lover. Zev deserved someone warm, someone who could be tender and sweet. 

All Sol knew how to do was blow smoke. 

“--take off those clothes.”

“What?” The inquiry was apical, causing Zev to raise his brows.

“I said, you’re shivering.” The captain closed the door behind them and then turned to meet his gaze. “You need to take off those clothes.”

Oh. It was really do or die today, wasn’t it?

The man was right, of course. His wet clothes were not helping his temperature problem. He needed to be dry and warm and soon. Zev knew this. Zev knew that he knew this. His fingers fumbled with the buttons of his tunic, already stiff and sluggish. 

He shuddered as he slid the fabric up and over his head, grimacing at the feel, like a large, wet tongue. His trembling increased. 

The room, which had been dark, lit with the familiar honeyed light of a lantern and Sol glanced over to find Zev watching him, the flecks in his irises dancing like starlight. His breath caught for a moment, hung up on the blatant desire on his captain’s face. 

Not one to resist the urge to play with fire, he pushed the sopping hair from his eyes,  _ knowing _ the way his tattoos would dance over his torso with the movement. “You ought to get out of yours too, captain,” he said, bending slowly to untie his boots. 

“So you’re giving the orders now?”

“Yes, doctor’s, to be specific,” he quipped, shucking his pants and letting them fall to the floor with a loud, wet  _ smack.  _ “Can I light the stove?” 

“Be my guest.” 

He stalked across the room and squatted in front of the small furnace, reaching with one hand to feed the coals from his fingertips while procuring a log from the pile beside him with the other. 

Zev’s eyes were still on him, he didn’t need to look to know. He could feel them.The mass of roses inked across his back were not something the captain had seen before. Did he think the choice was too feminine? Did he think Sol wasn’t man enough? What if-- 

He took a deep breath and focused on the fire he was working on. Hadn’t he decided long ago to never let another person decide what was and wasn’t appropriate for his gender? He didn’t need the captain’s affirmations.

But he wanted them.

“Why roses?”

The question came, as he knew it would, but it was neither chastising nor accusatory. Rather, it was genuine, interested, even. Sol now had to decide if he, too, would be honest. Being naked was one thing, being open, being vulnerable, that was another. He hadn’t even told Serafino the truth.

Zev approached him, blanket thrown over bare shoulders and Sol caught a glimpse of the expanse of chest before a bottle of whiskey was waved in his face. He took it along with the blanket the captain handed him. “They were cathartic,” he said dumbly, not knowing how else to explain in a way that didn’t make him sound mad. 

The captain sat down near the open stove, eyes intent, asking for more but ever-patient. Sol sat too, draping himself in the scratchy fabric. He took a drink from the bottle, despite knowing he could not hold his liquor. It burned going down, but not quite as hot as the words that followed. 

“I have a lot of blood on my hands.” No. That didn’t sound right. That didn’t explain it. “I didn’t like myself much after I defected.”  _ After he’d abandoned his people and left them to die _ . “I wanted to be covered in something other than blood.” But that didn’t answer the question.  _ Why roses?  _ “I panicked once, after days of people dying on me. Ran off to puke in privacy, saw roses, felt a bit less vile.” There. That was it, but… “I hadn’t thought I’d see red again and think of anything other than death, but there they were.” He took another drink and then passed the bottle. “I wasn’t quite right in the head, then. I needed the reminder, I guess, that there was more to life than war.” 

“Funny, how things work out like that.”

“Yeah.” He smiled sadly and rested his chin on one knee. “Never been a fan of dark humor, though.” Three measly swigs and he was already buzzing. “What about you? What’s with this ship?”

Not the most eloquent was to ask, but he’d never been terribly suave. 

"It was my first ship.  _ The Pyxis _ ." Zev took a drink and rubbed the back of his neck, a habit Sol wondered if the man knew he had. "We were on an expedition..." 

He regretted asking. The way the captain suddenly felt far, far away from him was unpleasant and he wanted very much to bring him back and never do anything that might send him back there again. “I--” 

"We were ambushed by sylph soldiers,” the man continued, determinedly, as if doing so was some sort of self-challenge. “The crew was slaughtered before I could even come on deck. They thought we were smuggling cargo to their enemies." Gray eyes shifted to the fire and the bitter half-laugh that fell from parted lips slit Sol’s chest open like a scalpel blade. “We had nothing.”

This time Sol stayed quiet, attempting the same patience he’d been shown. This felt sacred, intimate,  _ special _ , and even though it was clearly painful, perhaps it was a pain Zev needed to speak aloud. 

"They wouldn't even grant me the luxury of death.” The elf’s words were soft but volatile. “Instead they hauled me off, set the ship on fire and left it to drift.” A snarl, a swig of whiskey and then, “they tried marooning me, but,” he waved a hand at his person, “clearly they failed. Anyway, I found the ship later, washed up here.” The next words were spoken quickly, voice thick and ten times as weary as it had been before. “Their bodies were gone by then. I couldn't give them a proper burial. I'm just trying to restore it now. Don't know if it's a tribute or just something to keep the survivor’s guilt from eating me alive."

_ Sylph _ . It was because of the war that Zev had lost his crew. “I’m sorry.” How did the man even look at him? He knew who they were, had known what they’d run from. Which meant he knew that Sol could have married Illana Laessel in his brother’s place and ended the fighting and had chosen not to. 

“For what?” Zev snorted, passing the whiskey. “It was fifteen years ago. Nothing you did or didn’t do would have changed the outcome.”

“But, I could have married that princess,” he breathed. “I could have ended the war.”

“Did you start it?”

“No, but--”

“Then it wasn’t yours to end.” The man nodded to the bottle in his hand. “Drink. You’re still shivering.”

“You realize that alcohol only makes you  _ feel  _ warm?” He took a long drink anyway, because feelings trumped science. “It actually lowers your core temperature.”

“Well,” the man hummed. “What’s your favorite drink, then?”

“You’ll laugh.”

The captain shrugged, his blanket falling off one shoulder. “Tell me.”

Sol eyed the newly revealed flesh, hands itching to touch and whiskey quickly burning up his inhibitions. “Orange juice.”

As anticipated, Zev chuckled. “Orange juice. Really?”

“Yes, really,” he puffed.

“That’s cute.”

“Yeah?” He took another drink. “What else?

The captain raised both brows and then reached for the bottle. “Are you drunk, doctor?”

“Ach,” Sol dodged his hand, causing his own blanket to pool around his waist. “You answer first,” he smirked. “It’s not my turn.”

Zev cocked his head and tisked. “Are you asking me if I think you’re cute?”

“I’m asking,” he purred, “for specifics. You never say what you want, you just expect me to know. Please clarify for me, captain, exactly what about me is cute?”

“Your freckles.” The man rubbed at his neck again.

Sol grinned wider. “Is that all?”

“I like the way you blow smoke from your nose when you’re angry.”

“Oh? That’s not the only time I blow smoke.” He parted his lips and blew a long stream from his mouth to demonstrate. “What  _ else _ ?”

Zev pulled his blanket into his lap. “And when you try to scold me.”

“I do not  _ try _ ,” Sol opined, taking one last drink before handing the bottle off again. “I’ve made a career of chastisement. I’m  _ very _ good at it.”

“You are,” the man agreed with a soft laugh that made Sol’s heart feel weightless. “My turn now?”

Sol hummed a confirmation.

“Okay then,” Zev set the whiskey aside and then put his chin in one hand, “what do you think of me?”

“Vague as ever.”

“Answer.”

“I think,” he purred, “that you’re like orange juice.”

“I’m-- what?”

“You’re bright. I feel better when you’re around.” Blinking lazily, he watched the man’s feather earring spin. “And I think you’d taste good.”

“Come here.”

He opened his eyes. When had he closed them? “Hm?”

Zev was holding out his hand. “Come here. You’re too cold.”

“I did tell you,” he mumbled, “about the alcohol.”

“Yeah, right before you downed half the bottle.”

It hadn’t been half. If it’d been half, he’d be naked-- wait. If it’d been half, he’d be on the floor-- oh. But he’d started out that way so it didn’t count. “I need a cigarette.” 

He stood, or tried to. His knees had forgotten their function at some point and he only managed a wobbly lurch, which Zev took full advantage of, roping his waist and pulling him into his lap.

“Captain.” It had been meant to sound like a reprimand, but had come out very much like a plea. 

“This alright?” the man inquired, settling him between his legs, warm thighs pressed on either side of him. 

Sol flushed and fought the urge to flee. “Yes.”

“Sure?”

His pulse raced, blood all spiraling from his brain into his dick, leaving his tipsy brain running on fumes. Terrifying. This was terrifying. Because he  _ wanted  _ this. All of this, this closeness, this intimacy,  _ Zev _ himself, in every way, shape and form but-- he didn’t know  _ how. _

The last person he’d been held by like this had died on his table the day afterward, bloody hand clutching the front of Sol’s shirt, eyes wide and pleading. If he let Zev hold him, how long until he, too, was slipping away beneath his fingers? 

“Sol?”

The arms around his shoulders loosened and he felt the man begin to move away. “It’s fine,” he gusted, capturing the captain’s knees and bringing them back to his sides. “Sorry. No. It’s good. Thank you.”

“You don’t seem like you’re comfortable.”

“It’s just--” he laid his head in the crook of his arm, his elbow perched on Zev’s knee, “I wasn’t expecting it. It’s been a long time since anyone’s gotten so close.”

Zev snorted softly. “You run off to the brothel every time we’re docked.”

“Hate to break it to you, captain,” he sighed, “but cuddles isn’t what I’m paying them for.”

“Oh no?” the elf hummed, leaning in over his shoulder to speak into his ear, “ _ exactly _ what are you paying them for?”

Sol smothered a smile. “Unfortunately, it’s not your turn to ask a question.”

“It’s kind of unfair that you’re still smart when you’re drunk.”

“One of my many flaws.” He eased back and Zev accommodated his presence, allowing him to settle against his chest. “Can’t escape my own head, even when it’s swimming.”

They were quiet for a while, long enough for the haze of whiskey to clear, leaving only a serent mist over his thoughts. He was warm, too, content, though he knew it wouldn’t last. No matter what small reprieve he found, the dark of his depression was always there, waiting to move back in and smother him again.

He closed his eyes and let the pounding of Zev’s heart against his spine distract him. It was beating hard, as if the man had just finished a run. Sol’s diagnosis was simpler than that, however, and was cemented by the press of the man’s hefty arousal at his back.

“Your pulse is elevated, captain,” he hummed.

The elf huffed. “Ask me something so I can have my turn.”

Sol had forgotten the game minutes ago, but was happy to oblige. “That time you kissed me,” he murmured, “why’d you run out after?”

Zev’s chest rose on a deep inhale. “To put it gently,” he sighed, “I was pissed.”

Damn. He’d done something wrong. “I’m sorry,” he tried to turn but Zev had solidified around him. “What did I do?”

“Unfortunately,” the captain mimicked, “it’s not your turn to ask a question.”

“Ask me, then,” he snapped, annoyed but unable to truly be angry, not when Zev’s heat was all around him, lulling all his usual disquiet. 

“Can I kiss you again?”

He wanted to say something witty, but all he had in him after that question was a breathy, “yes,” and a remarkably needy, “more than that, if you want it.”

The sound Zev made was closest to a growl but might have been a concession too. 

Sol looked up and the man caught his chin in a large hand, pressing their mouths together mercilessly. The kiss was hungry, desperate, a challenge that Sol accepted with equal fervor. He fought back with teeth and tongue, a glutton for punishment in any form he could get it in. Fuck, if the captain wanted too, Sol would let him devour him right then and there, heart and soul and every inch of flesh. Because for the first time in his life, there was no doubt, no second-guessing, no worry. 

He’d give Zev anything for a few moments more of that.

The need to breath drove them apart, a sunderance that gave Sol a good chance to admire the man’s darkly flushed cheeks and red, swollen mouth. The beautiful bastard looked down at him, those storm-cloud eyes gazing at him with such fondness that Sol could almost believe he was worthy of it. He  _ wanted  _ to be worthy.

“What,” the man panted, “is your definition of ‘more’?”

“Whatever you want it to be.” And he meant it. He didn’t think there was a way he’d not imagined being with this person. 

There was a sudden shifting of limbs that left Sol on his knees, still facing forward, the captain poised behind him, pressed flush and nearly tenting him. “Is this fine?”

“Don’t ask,” he hissed. “Permission granted. Hurt me, even.”

“Sol.”

“Please.” He spread his knees and pushed his ass back into Zev’s groan. “I like it.”   
“Is that what you spend your wages on, doctor?” Zev ran his hand up his sides, thrusting against his thigh, swollen cock-head just grazing Sol’s sac as he did so. “You pay strangers to fuck you rough?”

He moaned low in his throat, sinking into a lewd kowtow and exhaling steam against the floorboards. “Yes.”

Zev’s touch tracked over his skin, exploring, tracing the floral patterns with a reverence that might have made him uneasy had it been anyone else. He should have known the man would take his time, as patient as he was. That was fine. Waiting was punishment, too. 

“On your back,” the captain ordered, knocking him off balance with a hard tug at one shoulder. Sol braced for impact but the man cushioned his fall with a strong arm, pulling their chests flush. Zev kissed him again, lightly on the mouth and then down his jaw. “I didn’t wait all this time just to fuck you from behind. I want you to know it’s me.”

“It’s always you.” The admission was thoughtless, instant and damning. 

There was a split instant of panic before Zev pulled back just enough to look him in the face, expressive features all alight, a cat with a mouse. 

The man had an impish smile, plush lips that curled just a little too well in the corners and a beguilingly deep dimple. But his eyes. Zev’s eyes were wide open. They possessed the unfair ability to be both cold and hot, a clear sky in the winter or the lightning in a summer storm. Sol, likewise, hated and admired them. He wanted them on him, always, longed for that that wanton stare to never waver or wander. He wanted Zev’s attention, but knew better than to think he could keep it.

Because Zev was so much and Sol was so little. 

Stones grew in his gut and, with an effort, he pried his gaze away. Why was he here? Zev was brilliant, handsome and charming. Even his recklessness and niche humor was attractive. Sol was just a boring, broken thing disguised beneath a lot of pomp.

He should stop before he embarrassed himself, before Zev discovered exactly what he was when he was naked,  _ truly  _ naked.

"Stop thinking," Sol's heart pounded and he felt elated and sick in tandem. He wanted this, this closeness. He wanted it so badly it was painful. That must be why he liked it so fucking much. “Pay attention to me.” The captain’s fingers dug into his hair and forced his head back, exposing his throat and the thumping pulse therein.

He dared to place his hands on the man’s hips, feathering thumbs over the skin just inside. This elicited a heated noise from Zev, who slid a hand down to his ass and squeezed. 

And suddenly it didn’t matter anymore. It didn’t matter if Zev was beautiful and Sol wasn’t. It didn’t matter that he was damaged or that he’d shown up looking desperate. He was about to get pounded into the floor and there was nothing, not even his skewed self-worth, that was going to take that from him.

He tried to lift his head, to look at the span of skin on display above him, but Zev took firm custody of his mouth in a firm, possessive way that sent a shudder throughout. Their cocks brushed and Sol groaned around the man’s tongue, mind melting away into something similar in consistency to a jelly-fish. He tried to arch his back, to move his hips, needing more friction, but the captain held him still.

He snarled in response.

Zev looked at him, those star-strewn eyes searching. “What’s the rush?” the man snickered. “Got some place to be?”

“Fuck me, or I’m going back to the whiskey,” he lied in a hiss, hoping his sharp tongue would provoke the mean-streak in his lover— a tactic that worked the majority of the time. 

It worked this time too, just not in the way he’d anticipated.

The room blurred and his limbs flailed as he was picked up and thrown over Zev’s shoulder. He barely had time to register a sharp slap to his ass before he was thrown onto the man’s bed, flipped onto his face and straddled. 

Exhilaration sweetened his blood and he laughed into the sheets, grin nearly manic, awash with the high of being subdued. It was so hard to feel anything some days that he questioned whether or not he existed at all, but when he had rough hands on him, when he was being pushed face first into a wall or being bruised and bitten, he knew without doubt that he was still flesh and blood. 

Zev grabbed his wrists and wrenched his arms behind his back, pressing a knee into his hip while the other hooked under his right leg, impeding his ability to roll. He simpered as leather slid across his flesh, the buckle of the captain’s belt tink- _ tinking  _ as the strap secured his hands.The bed creaked as the captain moved off of him and Sol mourned the weight.

“Captain,” he fussed, blowing hair from his face and grinding his cock into the bed to relieve the maddening pressure. 

A slick hand stayed the action, firm fingers squeezing. Zev’s other hand snaked beneath him, forearm urging his ass upwards as the attached palm closed over his dick. Sol uttered more elvish, praises this time. The captain chuckled darkly and laid a kiss at the base of his neck before biting him.

He opened his mouth, but his cry of pain turned to one of pleasure as his arousal was pumped hard and fast, the tip of a hot tongue tracing his tattoos. “Zev,” he keened, “please. I won’t last.”

“That’s the idea,” the man purred. “Cum for me.”

No. Not yet. He wanted Zev inside of him. “I--” 

“Doctor,” the command was sharp and final “That’s an order,  _ Captain’s _ specifically.”

Sol’s smile was open-mouthed and damp. _ This _ was what he wanted, the pirate, unmasked, raw, real and terrible. This man, villainous and vulnerable, moving with certainty that made all of his truths seem watered and worthless. He wanted to be a thing, stolen and mishandled.

As if hearing his thoughts, Zev fisted his free-hand in his hair, shoving his face harder into the sheets. Sol’s lungs screamed, filling with used air and fibres as Zev’s tugging roughened maddeningly. He closed his eyes, watching the dance of phosphenes while rutting into his partner’s fist. A calloused thumb brushed over his slit and that was it. Sol came in hard, near-painful bursts, limbs going soggy and head spinning. 

Zev rolled him over. He didn’t care, couldn’t, could only lay there, vision fuzzy, brain gone awol. His face was numb, his cock still pulsating, bones vibrating, everything felt far away and warm.

_ Bliss.  _

“What a pretty mess,” Zev commended huskily.

It took a long, fuzzied moment for Sol to realize he was being kissed, but when it hit him, he responded in kind, wishing his hands were free so that he could push his fingers through the man’s hair. It would be soft. It always looked so soft. 

When the captain pulled back, Sol chased his mouth, annoyed and not at all finished with the man’s lips. Zev snorted, amused and then moved down his body to lick at Sol’s chest, hot tongue circling one perked nipple.

He winced, over-sensitive. His puddled senses unable to parse anything beyond the foggy, selfish want for more. He tried to wriggle his arms loose, but the belt held and the effort took too much energy to continue.

“Okay?” Zev queried against his stomach.

His thigh trembled, but he lifted his leg and used it to push the man toward him, urging him to take what he wanted, to proceed in anyway he saw fit. “Fuck me.”

Zev pushed a finger inside of him without prelude, forceful, commanding. It hurt. Sol loved it. he found himself brazenly pushing downward to deepen the intrusion.

“Doctor.” It was warning and entreaty both. He wanted to heed it. Above all else, he wanted to be good for this man, needed to be, desperately.

Another finger joined its counterpart and his body reacted, slowly but determinedly. Zev kissed him again, the man’s fingers working him open, moving with purpose, fucking him with a practice he didn’t have the mindfulness to appreciate. His thoughts were strewn across his consciousness like wisp of cloud, pretty but pointless, unreachable. The most merciful state he’d been in, in some time.

He squirmed and bucked his hips, moaning helplessly.

And then Zev stopped and Sol snarled his protests, only to look up and see the captain poised on his knees above him, pupils blown, lips parted and wet, hand languorously stroking his red, swollen cock.

“Please,” he blurted, stupid with need.

Plush lips twitched at one corner. “You’re going to take every inch of me.” Sol’s eyes caught on the glimmer of rings in the lamp-light, watched as the man’s pale hand pumped up and back. “And you’re going to want more.”

Mouth gone dry, he licked his lips and tried to roll onto his knees, knowing he could have him deeper that way.

“No.” Zev claimed his hips, spinning his back around and bringing his own forward, toward him, aligning the head of his dick with Sol’s entrance. “I want to look at you.” The captain’s tone was thick, bleeding, and Sol couldn’t quite grasp the ghosts in his eyes, only felt that they were futilely wailing for something, trapped in a world that granted nothing.

Sol rocked forward, taking him further, consenting with both body and soul, giving all he could and hoping the gesture might fill some small corner of that void.

Dizziness blurred his vision and he squeezed his eyes shut as the room began to spin. Zev slapped his thigh, hard, the stinging bringing back the previous message that he needed oxygen. Back arching, he dug nails into the sheets as he was penetrated, filled up to an impossible capacity. He could feel Zev in his fucking spine, in his gut, in his veins.

The elf exhaled sharply through his nose, gyrating his hips slowly, waiting to be accommodated, and Sol couldn’t help his simpering as adrenaline rushed him, overwhelming already hyper-sensitized nerves.

Everything blurred together, his need, Zev’s, the sound of the storm beating the hull, their blood racing, their breath gusting. It was all a smear of sweat and feeling and that torturous, carnal build at his center.

“Touch me.” It was a plea. It could be nothing else. Sweat-damp hair clung to his face, sticking his lashes as he blinked for clarity and his limbs all quavered with wanton fatigue. “Zev, please.”

Zev snarled through his teeth.

A surge of renewed lust flooded him, so calefacient that it brought tears to his eyes. There was a bloom beneath his sternum, a knot come undone and he cried out, writhed, begged, totally and completely at the liberty of this marvelous, monstrous thing inside of him.

With a sudden changed angle, the captain struck a chord that sent lightning throughout him, stealing his sight in brief, giddy strikes. It didn’t take long after that, not with his body so alight. A fistful of seconds, hardly a minute and he was orgasming again, all over himself. Zev moved above him for only a few moments longer and then stilled. He felt the pulsing of the man’s cock like the heartbeat in his chest and when he pulled out Sol felt hollow and boneless.

They stayed like that until their breathing had slowed, sweat chilling and Zev’s cock gone soft inside of him, both lost in their own haze. Then, gently, the captain lifted him and loosed the belt. Sol was pliant, allowing the man to position him as he pleased, which was how they wound up back to chest, Zev half-curled around him.

“Still cold?” the man inquired into his hair, larger hands massaging the reddening marks on Sol’s wrists.

Sol turned his face into the muscled arm his head was pillowed on, only  _ just _ resisting the urge to bite. Instead, he let his eyes fall closed and gave the man the barest shake of his head in response. Zev said something else, but Solyce didn’t hear. 

For the first time in a long time, he fell asleep warm.


End file.
